


Withdrawal

by QuietlyImplode



Series: Rescue Me [22]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Withdrawal of Consent, sex with triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:13:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietlyImplode/pseuds/QuietlyImplode
Summary: Sex with triggers is a very specific minefield that it couldn’t have happened without discussions that very much laid both Clint and Natasha both bare, but what happens when new triggers arise?
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Series: Rescue Me [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984783
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Withdrawal

**Author's Note:**

> Careful with this one, there is sex and withdrawal of consent (which is stopped) but it's still there. Take care of yourselves.

It’s her idea. She initiates it and he just runs with it.

Sex for them is letting off steam, it’s connection and passion all in one but it’s not a necessity of their relationship, they can go months without it only to come back together and both crave it. She hunts him down, needing to be skin to skin, feel him under her. He’s surprised; he didn’t think that she’d be up for it, ready for it for a while. He doesn’t mind. It’s not how he works, he’s content with his own company.

He checks with her, once when she deepens a kiss, he knows what it means, “you sure?” He checks in.

She nods, “I’m always sure,” she retorts; unbuttoning her top, and moving towards the bed.

He moves with her, shucking his clothing as quickly as her. Her wounds are healing and bruising is a light green. It brings to light what her body’s been through and he kisses every mark with reverence.

Inpatient, she pulls him up and flips him over, divesting him of his underwear and pushing him into her. He grins, pulls up and kisses her face; then moves one hand to where they’re joined, touching her softly and in time with her movements on top of him.

His other hand reaches up, just as she pushes down, touching her neck. She stills. Panic washes over her face.

“Stop.” She says.

He’s withdrawing and pulling out of her, pushing his body away and pulling his boxers back on. She’s heading for the bathroom, grabbing her clothes before closing the door between the bathroom and the bedroom.

At least she hasn’t left.

“Nat, wait.” He calls. She doesn’t. It’s a spoken rule that if anyone ever calls stop or any iteration that everything ceases. Given both of their histories it’s a necessity having safe words and rules; and not just ones that are alluded to. He’d made that point very clear, they’d discussed, what was ok; what wasn’t. Sex is a such specific minefield that it couldn’t have happened without discussions that very much laid them both bare.

He knows it was touching her neck, it’s a new one but obvious from the trauma just sustained. He hopes she knows it was an accident. He sits in front of the door, knocks once.

“I’m sorry,” he calls. “can I come in?”

“Yeah.” Comes the quiet response. He hears the lock click.

He opens the door slowly. Walks in as she’s opening the shower and walking in.

It must be cold, he thinks absentmindedly.

He doesn’t say anything, and seeing her helps put his mind at ease, that she’s physically ok at least.

“I’m sorry.” He says again.

She waves him off. Ducks her head under the spray. Washes thoroughly. Allows the water to pulse on her neck and shoulders. Finishes by washing her hair.

She turns off the shower and he hands her a towel.

“New trigger.” She says by way of thanks.

“I didn’t mean to..” He answers.

“I know. It shocked me. Made me..” she pauses, trying to find the word.

“Panic?” He supplies.

“I suppose.”

“Do you want these or pajamas?” He asks pointing to her clothes.

She looks up in surprise.

“You have my pajamas here?”

“Yeah,” he says, “they’re the ones you left a couple of weeks ago. You know the ones with the stripes?” He leaves the bathroom and grabs it from the closet.

“Here,” he says, handing them over. Natasha smiles. There’s that at least.

“You’ll stay?” He asks.

“Yeah,” she says. “I think so. Shower helped.”

He can’t help but grin at her.

“Ok. Good.” He moves to the bedroom, rearranges the bedclothes. She climbs in next to him, curls close.

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

Clint kisses her forehead. “Nothing to be sorry about.”


End file.
